Living in Barbie's Dream House

Chicken Soup for the Soul: Think Positive

BY: Annmarie B. Tait

The man who has no inner-life is a slave to his surroundings.
~Henri Frederic Amiel


Years before treading the murky waters of our dismal American economy, my husband and I challenged ourselves to seek the positive side of a simplified lifestyle. With eyes wide open we made a conscious choice to live within our means rather than kill ourselves living beyond them. Simplifying in many ways means doing without. For us the bottom line translates to a positive outcome though I must admit, it's not all sunshine and rainbows.


The house we've lived in for the past twenty years is a pretty good example of real estate with no bells or whistles. Most people refer to it as quaint, but frankly I've seen phone booths with more square footage than our living room. One or two things out of place in this small house and all of a sudden it looks as if I haven't done any housework since the Reagan Administration.


If you're trying to picture our humble abode, it's not exactly Barbie's Dream House. It's probably the same size, but I imagine Barbie has better plumbing. We don't let it bother us. I'm confident it's only through the Grace of God that we enjoy indoor plumbing in the first place. So what if it's not possible to take a shower and run the dishwasher at the same time without risking a scalded appendage or two? Maybe the guy who invented paper plates suffered from the same problem, and look what it did for him!


Our "Graceland" was built 140 years ago on ground originally used to stable horses. About 141 years ago the horses left town, and I know why. The draft that blows through our living room in the winter could knock a Clydesdale off its feet. I'm the only person I know who dresses according to the wind chill factor -- in the living room. As you might have guessed, I've amassed quite an extensive sweater collection, and there are days when I wear them all at the same time. If it's cold enough outside, I end up looking like the Michelin Man. But, it beats having to work sixty hours a week just to afford the mortgage payment on one of those houses with the newfangled, double-paned, insulated, energy-friendly windows I keep hearing about.


Over the past twenty years we have discovered what makes a house comfortable and it has nothing to do with acreage, inground pools, or multi-car garages. We have none of the above, unless you count the moat around the sump pump as an inground pool of water. Yet, people often remark about the cozy and inviting atmosphere that flourishes here. A home is comfortable and inviting when the occupants are relaxed and content. It's just that simple.


We don't watch our DVDs on a TV the size of a roadside billboard. Of course, we don't have a room large enough to accommodate one of those things anyway, but we do sit down together every night and relish each other's company over a home-cooked meal. Neither one of us is ever in a rush to get out the door to a second job.


On Sundays we savor a pot of coffee and the Sunday paper. We read it all afternoon if the mood strikes us. Well, the truth be told, it is a bit of a squeeze finding a spot on our downsized coffee table for the coffee pot and that big fat newspaper, especially if the idea of bagels and cream cheese enters the picture. Somehow we juggle things and make do.


We make no pretense of striving for the good life. We enjoy the good life every day.


Free from the financial burden of keeping up with everyone else allows us time for laughter and fun. I imagine it's not easy to relax by the pool when you are robbing Peter to pay the pool man.


The price paid in time alone (not to mention stress and aggravation) to support state-of-the-art home theaters, flashy cars, and overpriced real estate, along with countless other so-called amenities is staggering. Without a doubt it quells the occasional twinge of envy I have over the luxuries of others. Our luxury is having no worries about how to pay for big-ticket toys.


We spend a great deal of time at home, cramped quarters, drafty rooms and all. I don't mind a bit when we are snuggled together on the couch under a cozy afghan enjoying an old movie, or out on the side porch sipping iced tea and basking in the beauty of a summer sunset.


Oh, we occasionally grumble about how grand it would be if we could take a shower and run the dishwasher at the same time, but we get over it.


Especially when we consider that at the close of last year we made our final mortgage payment on this little house, many years in advance of the scheduled payoff date. I'm positive we were not expecting this outcome when we made our decision to live a simplified life. It just turned out to be one of the perks.

http://www.beliefnet.com/Inspiration/Chicken-Soup-For-The-Soul/2011/01/Living-in-Barbies-Dream-House.aspx?source=NEWSLETTER&nlsource=49&ppc=&utm_campaign=DIBSoup&utm_source=NL&utm_medium=newsletter&utm_term=mail.ru

Resolution Not Revolution

From Chicken Soup for the Soul: Shaping the New You

By Kimberly M. Hutmacher

Small deeds done are better than great deeds planned.
~Peter Marshall

Eight, 10, 12, 14... year after year, I watched my jean size creep up, along with the number on the bathroom scale. Feeling weak and ashamed, I responded by exercising like gangbusters and severely limiting my caloric intake. I would promptly lose five to 10 pounds, and then slowly fall back into my old habits -- overeating and infrequent exercising. Falling back into bad habits meant falling back into larger jeans, too.

In late 2006, I began to think about my previous attempts at weight loss. I realized my goals were always too demanding and I was inadvertently setting myself up to fail. In previous years, I had told myself that I would lose 10 pounds by the end of January, five more pounds by the end of February, five more by the end of March and so on. I set a much different kind of goal for January 2007.

I vowed to walk on the treadmill for 15 minutes at least five days a week. It was a small, manageable goal. I began walking just two miles per hour for 15 minutes, giving myself the weekends off. I worked my way up to three miles per hour for 15 minutes and then three miles per hour for 20 minutes. Month after month, little by little, I increased my rate of speed and the length of my walk. I now walk four miles per hour for 30 minutes each day.

I added another manageable goal for January 2008. I had been drinking at least one soda every day. I wanted to drink less soda and more water. Again, I cut back little by little, month after month, and over the course of the year, I reduced my consumption to just one soda a week.

In January 2009 I set myself another new fitness goal. Previously, I was eating fast food two to three times each week. I knew that if I could manage to scale that back, I would be doing my body and my pocketbook a huge favor. Again, just like with my previous goals, I cut back little by little. After two months, I was already down to eating out just once a week.

After just two years on my journey to a new and healthier lifestyle, I was down 20 pounds and comfortably back into my size 8 jeans. By keeping my goals small, I was able to follow through and sustain each one for the long haul. I continue to see the results on the scale, and I feel so much better with each passing year and each new resolution!

http://www.chickensoup.com/bulletin.asp?newsid=newsletter-110101-2&utm_source=Beliefnet_Email&utm_medium=Bulletin&utm_campaign=Issue_87

Moving Forward

Chicken Soup for the Soul: Think Positive

BY: Shawnelle Eliasen

We can destroy ourselves by cynicism and disillusion, just as effectively as by bombs.
~Kenneth Clark


Our old neighborhood had been like modern-day Mayberry. Neighbors chatted over fences. Newcomers were welcomed with chocolate brownies and butter-braid bread. It had been easy to find friends there.


Our new community was different. It seemed that family roots grew deep. Deep as the Mississippi River that flowed past the tiny river town. Breaking in was tough.


We'd moved to decrease my husband's commute to work. Only thirty miles.


I wished that I could erase each one.


After living there for six months, I was ready to pick up tent stakes and move back home. I was lonely for a friend. My three boys were lonely. My husband, Lonny, fared okay, but he spent his days at work.


"I'm so alone here," I said to Lonny one evening. "I don't see my old friends much, and I can't seem to make new ones." We were sitting on the front porch of our old Victorian. Our three young sons kicked a soccer ball around the side yard.


Lonny is a good listener, but he also has an engineer's brain. He's a problem solver.


"What have you done to meet people?" he asked.


"I go to story time at the library every week. I initiate conversations at the park. I even stalked a lady at a garage sale. She had two boys and looked like someone I'd want to be friends with. But she was more interested in that old vase she was looking at than chatting."


"Sounds like you're doing the right stuff," he said. "Keep at it."


And I did. I tried to be open and friendly. It wasn't that people were unkind. They just all seemed established.


A few more months passed and winter settled in. It was harder than ever to meet people. I admitted that we had a few obstacles. We homeschooled our boys and still attended church in our old community. But I'd never had trouble making friends before, and I started to develop an attitude. Who needed a friend? I was tired of trying to fit in a place it seemed that we didn't belong.


Grey winter days eventually gave way to fresh spring color, but my attitude stayed dark and gloomy. I began to feel bitter. I still went to the library and park, but I didn't start conversations. I didn't invite anyone over. I wanted to move back to our old neighborhood.


Lonny noticed my sinking disposition.


"Shawnelle, you look unapproachable," he whispered in my ear one afternoon. He and I were sitting in lawn chairs at our son's first-of-the-season Little League game. Samuel, our three-year-old watched the game from his own little Scooby-Doo chair.


"What do you mean?"


"Body language. Your arms are crossed. You placed our chairs fifteen yards away from everyone else."


"It doesn't matter. I'm not going to have friends here."


"You sure won't if you stop trying," he said.


Just then Samuel looked up. He must've heard our whispers. "Mom's right, Dad. We'll never ever have friends here. And we just want to go home."


I sat there and looked at my tiny blond son.


His words mirrored my attitude. And I didn't like the murky reflection. That's when I knew that I needed an adjustment. I didn't want my boys to learn that the way to work through a tough time was to wield a wounded and bitter attitude.


Over the next few months I worked very hard. I smiled when I didn't feel like it. I joined conversations at the ballpark. The boys and I baked cookies for our neighbors. It's going to be great when I find that friend, I told myself. I'll appreciate it even more than if I'd made friends right away. I stopped talking about moving back home. We signed up for reading programs at the library and frequented parks and the bike path along the river. I was still lonely, but some of the frustration slipped away. At least I wasn't sitting home stewing. And it was harder to grumble when I was smiling.


I went forward each day. Doing the things I could do. Trying not to look back.


One afternoon Samuel and I clambered up the stairs to the library activity room. We'd signed up to attend a craft class, and I was going to sport my improved attitude. As we rounded the corner, I made sure that I looked approachable. Arms uncrossed. Wide, bright smile as we walked through the door.


A blond woman who I hadn't seen before sat at an oblong table with a tiny, redheaded boy. She smiled back. I noticed her deep dimples and kind, blue eyes. The little boy was about Samuel's age.


There were empty chairs beside her. I decided to walk closer.


"Hi," she said. "I'm Tammy. This is Chase. Do you need a seat? There's one right here."


I sat down next to Tammy. The boys delved into their craft and Tammy and I delved into conversation. Soon class was over, and we still had a lot to say. "Why don't you come over later?" Tammy asked. "I live on a farm. There's plenty of room for the kids to run."


We went.


And since that day, we've been back a million times. Tammy and I became the best of friends, and that farm is like a second home to my boys.


When I look back, I'm grateful for that lonely, tough time. I learned to persevere. I learned to hold my attitude in check. A new sensitivity was born in me -- I'm always on the lookout for newcomers. And I was right -- I do appreciate my friendship with Tammy. My family has broken into this community, and this little town is where we want to be.


I'm glad I didn't give up.


And as for my boys, they learned a lesson too. A valuable lesson about tough times.


"Keep moving forward," is what I tell them. "Your heart will follow."


And once in a while it leads you.


Straight into the arms of a friend.

http://www.beliefnet.com/Inspiration/Chicken-Soup-For-The-Soul/2010/12/Moving-Forward.aspx?source=NEWSLETTER&nlsource=49&ppc=&utm_campaign=DIBSoup&utm_source=NL&utm_medium=newsletter&utm_term=mail.ru

Cookie Chronicles

Chicken Soup for the Soul: Shaping the New You

BY: Linda O'Connell

It's all right letting yourself go, as long as you can get yourself back.
~Mick Jagger


For 11 months I eat sensibly, but every December my willpower disappears. I stand by the oven like a child watching the minutes tick away on the timer. I anxiously await the first batch of gooey melted chocolate chip cookies and homemade peanut butter delights with crisscross patterns. I know if I indulge myself my belly will bulge and my pants will get snug. I eat them anyway. Not just two cookies with a cup of coffee, but two handfuls. And not just at breakfast or in the evening in front of the television, but for two full weeks, every time I pass the cookie jar.


At the end of a fun-filled Christmas Day, I dispense the leftover holiday cookies, cakes and pies to our four adult children and grandchildren.


"Take them with you. We're swearing off the sweets." Like the birds that return each spring with their melodious calls, I sing the same familiar tune as I vow to return to healthy eating: It's over; I'm finished; I mean it!


This December 27th I reached into the freezer and opened the box of veggie burgers. I removed one plastic-wrapped peanut butter cookie. I stashed the other five back under the patties. Guiltily I remembered my new mantra: "a moment on the lips, a lifetime on the hips." I decided to eat one for each hip, to even them out. I took my time and slowly nibbled my cookies. I knew the remaining four delectable delights wouldn't last much longer, so I planned to wean myself off them. I'd have one a day for four more days, then a new year -- a new beginning.


I awoke hungry on January 1st, the other four cookies a fond memory. Time to reform and I meant it this time! I reached for the box of oatmeal -- no sugar for me. I doused that pot of roughage with cinnamon, and sweetened it with blueberries. Right then and there, I vowed to start my antioxidant regimen and my exercise routine.


While my oatmeal was cooling, I decided to go for the gold; climb the flight of basement steps a couple of times, get my motor running, set my metabolism a notch higher, get a head start on the calories. I flew down the steps three times. No problem. The third ascent I dragged myself back up, huffing and puffing. I caught my breath, opened the cupboard door, but all of our cereal bowls were in the dishwasher. I reached to the back of the cabinet and snatched a faded, yellow plastic bowl. Three unwrapped chocolate chip cookies fell out. I salivated like one of Pavlov's dogs and stuffed an entire stale cookie in my mouth. My husband walked into the kitchen while I was on all fours. "What's for breakfast?" he asked.


"Shoatmeal," I mumbled with a mouthful of calories waiting to slide permanently towards my happily wagging tail end. I chewed frantically and considered tossing the remaining rock-hard cookies into the trash. But I couldn't do it. I decided coffee would make them palatable. After I ate that last cookie I vowed that would be the end. It was time to get on track. But I procrastinated and made excuses: The treadmill's in the basement and then I have to hike back up those stairs. The weather's too cold to walk outdoors. I don't have enough time to walk at the mall or recreation center before work, and I'm too tired after work.


As of this writing, my cookie stash is long depleted and I am starting to think about spring. Before I know it, I'll be ditching my comfy sweat suit and donning a new bathing suit. In anticipation of that purchase (it will be a size smaller, not a size larger) I have been taking baby steps towards my weight-loss goal of 10 pounds. Once I achieve that goal, I'll work on the other 10 pounds. I know better than to expect the thin me who lives within this chubby body to reappear like magic. It will take time to coax her out from all that padding. I've been padding myself with propaganda: A couple of cookies won't make a difference. Tomorrow you can exercise. Love the skin you're in. With age comes weight gain. Your butt's not THAT big.


The way I see it, at least from the rearview in my full-length mirror, my butt IS that big and carrying belly fat makes me look pregnant. If I attain my first weight-loss goal, I'll be ridding myself of this 10-pound baby I call Chubby. Then I'm going to work on his 10-pound twin, Blubber. These days, instead of sitting at work after I eat lunch, I walk. Instead of lying supine on the couch after I get home from work, I sit up and use a weighted flex ball to do leg lifts and arm exercises. I tune out my screaming knees and take those basement steps three times, twice a day. When I open the fridge, I pull out the gallon of milk and raise it over my head a few times. I dance the dinner dishes to the table; I high-step down the hall. When my hubby finds me on the floor, I'm not retrieving cookie contraband, I'm coaxing my body to bend and stretch. So what if I have to roll to get up? At least I'm working on my rolls.


I'm starting small; my goals are realistic. I may not hike a trail, but I am hiking myself off the sofa and I'm starting to move. My small steps are paying off. In less than five weeks, I've lost five cookie-pounds. Like the song birds that will be returning soon, I'm singing a new tune. And yes, this time I mean it!

http://www.beliefnet.com/Inspiration/Chicken-Soup-For-The-Soul/2010/12/Cookie-Chronicles.aspx?source=NEWSLETTER&nlsource=49&ppc=&utm_campaign=DIBSoup&utm_source=NL&utm_medium=newsletter&utm_term=mail.ru

Be Still

Chicken Soup for the Soul: Devotional Stories for Mothers

BY: Michelle Rocker

"Be still, and know that I am God..."
~Psalm 46:10


Ever have one of those days... weeks... months when your children drain you of every bit of energy you have? As a mom of four, there are many days when I think I just can't handle one more thing. In a span of just a month, I had to rush two of my children to the ER -- one for sticking a barrette in her ear and the other with a middle ear infection. The week before, I had another one with a bladder infection and made the appointment for my fourth one with his counselor for anxiety attacks. There is no magic pill for "Worn-Out Mommy Month." That old commercial, "Calgon, take me away," just doesn't cut it. I wanted a limo to come and whisk me away to a five-star hotel with room service. I longed for my world to quit careening out of control.


One night after my husband got home from work, I told him it was absolutely necessary for me to get away for a little bit. Seeing the raving lunatic under the surface, he quickly sent me on my way, and I left for the beach.


One of the blessings of living in Florida is the beach. You walk on the sand and it feels like an instant vacation. I walked to a secluded spot and plopped down on a little hill, close enough to watch the waves come in, but far enough to not get wet. Then I let God have it. I told Him about my awful month. I told Him how unfair it was. Then a scripture popped into my head (not by accident, I'm sure).


"Be still, and know that I am God..." (Psalm 46:10).


Sarcastically, I said, "Okay, I'm being still and knowing you are God."


I folded my arms around my knees and watched the waves. A soothing calm permeated my body as the waves came in and out. I slowly worked out my kinked muscles and overloaded brain. I closed my eyes and relaxed. About that time, I heard a wave that sounded as if it was going to get me all wet. I opened my eyes and saw it was about a foot away. Immediately, God spoke.


"Michelle, you don't trust me."


Huh?


I brushed it off and closed my eyes again. I heard another wave and opened my eyes, afraid that I was fixing to get wet. God spoke to me a second time.


"See, you don't trust me."


True to my stubborn form, I told God that it was just a stupid wave. He informed me that wasn't the point.


Rolling my eyes, I closed them. God told me to listen to the waves. Whenever I heard the froth of a wave bubbling near me, I squeezed my eyes shut, trying not to peek. The next one came, and I relaxed. As each wave came and left without touching me, God began speaking to my heart.


Oftentimes, life can be so loud that we forget to sneak in quiet time. Wave after wave comes, and we feel like we are soaking in frustration and anxiety. I walked away from the beach that day knowing that God would take care of this mother's anxiety and worn-out body. The waves are inevitable, but if am still before Him, He will keep them from overwhelming me.

http://www.beliefnet.com/Inspiration/Chicken-Soup-For-The-Soul/2010/12/Be-Still.aspx?source=NEWSLETTER&nlsource=49&ppc=&utm_campaign=DIBSoup&utm_source=NL&utm_medium=newsletter&utm_term=mail.ru

Fueled by Faith

Chicken Soup for the Soul: A Book of Miracles

BY: Courtney Rusk

We have confidence before God and receive from him anything we ask, because we obey his commands and do what pleases him.
~1 John 3:21-22


The night air blew on my young unblemished face as our car lumbered along on the long asphalt road. It was a Wednesday, like many others before. My mom, three brothers, two sisters, and I were on our long trip home from a church youth activity. Although I was not quite old enough to attend the youth socials, my mom worked with the program, so I always looked forward to watching from the back of the room as spirits were lifted and laughs shared.


Perhaps one reason I looked so forward to the Wednesday church nights as a child was not because of my burning faith, but because it pulled me away from the troubles that often waited at home.


During these long hard years, my family of eight struggled financially. It was difficult for my father to keep a steady job, and my mother barely earned minimum wage at a physically and emotionally demanding job. There were many times when we truly did not know where our next meal would come from, but we somehow always survived. And we somehow always made it to church every Wednesday and Sunday.


On this particular Wednesday, we all piled into the car and drove the thirty long miles from our old wood-frame home in the secluded country to civilization, to church. My mother must have known that she was low on gas and lower on money, but her determination overpowered her logic.


There we were on our way home from church on a dark empty road somewhere between civilization and home, and our 1980 Ford station wagon stalled, then rolled to a dead stop.


We sat there for a few minutes that seemed more like hours, while my mother frantically tried to restart the car. I sensed her nervousness and felt fear creep into the car. There we sat, long before the days of cell phones, completely alone. I can only imagine some of the thoughts that crept through her mind. My dad was out of town. No one would even realize we were in trouble. We could sit there all night. Finally, Mom turned around and looked over the back seat to where all six of the children were piled together.


"Kids," she said softly, but intently, "we are going to have to pray."


None of us asked questions. We were a family that relied heavily on prayer. However, in that intense moment, we all knew that this prayer was different from the ones that we said safely kneeling by our beds. Each one of us seemed to take on his or her shoulders the responsibility of the family's safety. As a child, sitting there in that car with my hands folded tightly and tears streaming down my cheeks, I prayed harder than I ever had before.


We pleaded out loud, fully convinced that Someone out there was aware of us. I cannot recall how long we prayed, but I can easily recall the feeling of peace that came over us like a warm blanket. We stopped praying, raised our bowed heads, and looked up at each other.


My mother smiled sweetly and reassuringly and slowly moved her hand toward the key. She clicked the key just enough to make the gauge lights come on. Our eyes locked on the needle that seemed to tauntingly hang there below the "E." Full of hope, we all watched intently, waiting for my mom to try to start the car. Just then, before she could turn the key, the needle on which all eyes were locked began to move up. Slowly, before our amazed and frightened eyes, the needle moved above the "E."


Mom glanced back at us with a look of amazement that soon turned to gratitude and joy. She quickly turned the key, started the car and drove all the way down that lonely road safely to our driveway.


We did not speak of the incident on the ride home or the next day. We did not need to. The next morning, as my mom poured gas from a gas can into the car to get it to start again, I watched, knowing that something miraculous had happened to all of us the night before... something none of us could ever deny. The hope that may have been young and unsteady before was forever embedded in my heart. From that point on, I knew that miracles could happen and that my life would always be fueled by faith.

http://www.beliefnet.com/Inspiration/Chicken-Soup-For-The-Soul/2010/12/Fueled-by-Faith.aspx?source=NEWSLETTER&nlsource=49&ppc=&utm_campaign=DIBSoup&utm_source=NL&utm_medium=newsletter&utm_term=mail.ru

Fun

Chicken Soup for the Soul: My Resolution

BY: Vickey Kalambakal
Attitude is a little thing that makes a big difference.
~Winston Churchill


One holiday season, way back in the 1980s, I was caught unprepared for the New Year. Somehow, I forgot to make a resolution, and didn't realize it until January 2nd, when my three office mates began discussing theirs. What to do?


I could have copped out. I could have said, "I don't make New Year's resolutions." But that would be a lie; I did make them. What's more, I liked them! I just... forgot.


Was it too late?


I don't know where the idea came from, but I opened up the Power Point program on my computer, printed out a sign in bold 32-point letters, and taped it to the wall in back of my desk. The sign read:


If it ain't fun, I ain't doing it.


When co-workers asked me my resolution, I pointed to the sign. Everyone laughed and a few double-entendres were muttered.


"Does that mean you're only going to do half your work?" one boss asked. "Because if I have to hire an assistant for you, we need to talk."


I worked for a small company where kidding and practical jokes were daily occurrences -- often initiated by management. "An assistant would be great," I said. "She could give us all pedicures."


"I'll think about it."


A few days later the Sales Manager burst in. "I'm swamped. Clear your desk, you've got to help me. We've got a new promotion planned -- well, not really planned, you're gonna get stuck with the planning stuff. A national contest... we're giving away T-shirts and sound systems. It'll run for three months. You need to schedule.... " He stopped, catching sight of the sign behind me.


The Sales Manager tapped his pencil on his papers and turned away. He looked down the hall for a few seconds before flashing a huge smile at me. "You are going to love this! A national contest; this will be so much fun. You'll be talking about this for the rest of your life -- you'll tell your grandchildren about it! You'll be meeting celebrities, writing radio promos...."


And so it went. Everyone who saw the sign reframed the tasks we did together. We discovered that ripping and separating six-part forms was actually cathartic and released tension. Running to the warehouse to check on orders could be great exercise. A phone call broke up a dull afternoon. Once, the boss brought in a six-pack of soda and announced that our weekly meetings would now start with belching contests.


If it ain't fun, I ain't doing it. Could I refuse the work that wasn't fun? Not without losing my job! I had to reset my own mind and find fun. It wasn't that hard; I liked my job to begin with. Invoices, shipping labels, customer service questions -- all became, by wild (and sometimes twisted) leaps of the imagination, fun.


Not every story evolved into an anecdote, of course. Sometimes the fun was no more than an espresso or ice cream break when the work was done. My work didn't change, but my attitude did.


That resolution taught me that fun exists all around me, waiting to be found. Pain, drama, boredom, stress, and sadness are there too. We choose what to see and how to respond to it.

http://www.beliefnet.com/Inspiration/Chicken-Soup-For-The-Soul/2010/12/Fun.aspx?source=NEWSLETTER&nlsource=49&ppc=&utm_campaign=DIBSoup&utm_source=NL&utm_medium=newsletter&utm_term=mail.ru